


goodness of the heart

by emmamere



Series: a gathering of abnormalities (hxh) [4]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Character Death, Sad Ending, but also happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:19:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmamere/pseuds/emmamere
Summary: Insight on one of Leorio's many tragic endeavours in doctoring.





	goodness of the heart

He knows that he is dying years before he does.

With every death that isn't his own, he feels it drawing closer. With every drop of mud that smudges his cheeks, he can sense his breath leaving. With every instance where the greasy hand of a powerful person bats away his own body of skin and bones, he knows that his passing is approaching.

The child wanted to see something good before he went, even before his diagnosis. He wished with every fiber of his being that someday the musty sand of their lawn would be transformed into his mother's garden. He yearned to purchase a bag of soft treats for the mangy cat he saw often, wandering the slums. 

He even would have been content with holding the door for a nice old lady at church, all decked out in his fancy church clothes and smiling as she thanked him. Not content, no, that's not the correct word - he would have been truly happy.

But those ambitions vanish into the great blue sky as he collapses to the sand, a bead of blood worming through his lips.

His mother screams his name, and that is the last he hears as a hopeful boy.

\---

He has heard around the ghettos stories of disease and ugly deaths. That you're truly lucky if your dying image isn't of a hospital's pasty white walls and the face of some doctor you don't know.

He supposes that he is truly and irrefutably lucky - his name does not even have that much money to it. Though his mother may cry and sob, they will never have enough for a doctor. Not that he cares; he has been expecting his death for years upon years. He is merely disappointed that he couldn't see good before he went.

Life as a diseased boy is distant and blurred. Sometimes he can recognize his dear mother as she furrows her brows in frustration, sitting motionless on a near-broken chair. Sometimes he can acknowledge the thin blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Sometimes he feels the mind-blowing pain.

Other times he doesn't, and he stares at cracked ceilings with veiled eyes, seeing nothing but the dance of random peach-colored shapes. Even the sensation of his lungs sputtering dark red spit has become faded, to him.

\---

One day he hears the deep-throated voice of a stranger.

"Hello, Ben? Are you there?"

He mumbles something, not quite sure what. Hopefully the man understands.

"Ben, I'm going to try my hardest to get you back on your feet. Until then, you just have to hold on. Okay?"

His chocolate eyes slowly come into focus. The man's chin is thick with stubble, and his jaw accented with a sharp incline. To the boy, he looks almost regal.

"My name's Leorio, Ben, and I'm your doctor."

\---

The next morning, he chokes blood. Not like scarlet spit. This time, it leaks from his mouth and onto the stained pillow. This time, he is terrified.

He had abandoned his resolve to be good. He had thought that he had resigned to his fate. So why the fear?

He knew that there was no hope. Through numb eyes he had seen Leorio whisper it to his mother. He had born witness to her subsequent sobs and tears. Yet hours later, the tall man had returned to the slums with a bottle of soda pop in one hand and a fluffy kitten in the other. 

Leorio had introduced the dying child to the wonderful refreshment that was soda pop. He had dropped the ball of fur into his pale hands, let him play with the friendly, mewling creature. Ben giggled as it rubbed against his face.

Though he still didn't understand. No matter what, he would still be dead in less than a week. No matter the soft, kind words of comfort that his doctor spoke to him.

Leorio wiped the liquid from his eyes as he cried, for absolutely no reason at all. Well, Ben did have reasons, thousands and thousands of them, but none so significant that they would trump the taste of fizzy pop in his bruised throat and the wriggling kitten held in his arms.

His voice was scratchy and pathetic. He used it all the same.

"Why?"

He was rewarded with the brightest smile he would ever see.

"There doesn't need to be a reason when giving a child the things they need."

Ben blinked. He didn't quite get what Leorio meant.

"Doctors don't just mend bodies, Ben. They help their patient in any way they can."

Leorio jabbed a finger at his chest. "And someday, I will be the best doctor the world's ever seen."

He laughed, a small, pure sound. It wasn't that he doubted him, it was merely his manner. Pleasant.

\---

When he knew he was to die, for his lungs had become heavy and his spine stiff, he had shaken the man's navy sleeve. Admittedly, he was horrified of what was to be.

Leorio understood. He fluffed the kitten to the boy's chest and asked him, whisper-like, if he wanted his mother awake. She was sprawled on the floor, head tucked under her arms and a prominent dark halo under her eyes.

He said no. She needed sleep. 

Though the crimson blood gushing from his eyes, nose, and mouth frightened him beyond belief, he also felt oddly satisfied. He had seen good, and it had been raw and so very real it filled his heart again with hope.

"Goodnight," his doctor said, just barely coherent, and with that he fell asleep.


End file.
